


The Old Fashioned Way

by TourmalineQueen



Series: Rozenn the Breton [8]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, F/M, Galmar has PTSD, Galmar is super bad with emotions, Hurt/Comfort, OC mentions, Poisoning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ralof is also there, Rozenn doesn't mind playing second fiddle for this one, So much angst, This is really Galmar and Ulfric's epic bromance, Ulfric and Galmar's epic Bromance, Ulfric does not like magical healing, Ulfric has PTSD, emotional h/c, h/c, magical healing causing trauma, with very good reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 19:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: Written for the Skyrim KinkmemeOriginal Prompt: Ulfric Stormcloak, like an orc, lets his wounds heal naturally.This is because his last experience with restoration magic was when the Thalmor were torturing him half to death and then healing him so they could start all over again.(Go wherever you like with this. I just thought my angstmonster of a headcanon might inspire a plot bunny.)





	1. Chapter 1: Something's Happened

Calder was surprised to see a courier when he answered the knock on Hjerim's door - usually they waited until his Thane left to catch her in the streets to give her their missives. That the message was for Galmar, husband to the Thane, was even more curious. Only a handful of people knew that Galmar spent his nights in the Thane's Windhelm residence.

He handed the note to Galmar and retired to his quarters for the night - hurrying as he saw the scowl darkening Galmar's features.

"Galmar? What is it?" Rozenn asked quietly.

"Ulfric's an idiot," Galmar replied, crushing the letter in his fist.

"Yes, so you keep telling me. Why especially now? Or is it privileged information?" Rozenn asked, slipping an arm around her husband's waist before he could get out of bed.

Galmar placed his hand over hers, and was silent for a long minute. "Ulfric doesn't care for his well-being anymore. Not since - No. That is all I can tell you."

Rozenn took his vagueness and irritability in her stride. "What do you need me to do?"

"Stay here. Or go off adventuring. Without me. Ulfric broke his leg, so it will be at least a month before I can leave him again. Maybe two. Damned fool."

"And he won't have the Shield-Maidens heal him? Will he take a potion? I know I have some down in the Alchemy lab..." Rozenn trailed off when Galmar shook his head.

"Just - just let me go to him, love. That's is the best you can do."

"Well, what if he didn't know he was taking a healing potion? Mix a little Minor Healing into his mea-"

The vicious look on Galmar's face silenced her mid-word.

"No," was all he said, but the venom in that little syllable gave her pause.

Rozenn nodded. "I'll fix up a pack of essentials for you, then, while you get your armour on. You can take the palomino Frost, if you like. He's very quick, and I've neglected him lately." 

Galmar nodded, accepting her unspoken peace offering for what it was. She didn't know, couldn't know what her words had meant to him. He lifted his Breton wife from the bed, gave her a searing kiss, and grunted, "that'll have to do us for a while."

Galmar was glad he'd accepted Rozenn's offer of the horse Frost. Although he was amused when she told him it was conditional on his going NOWHERE near The Rift. As if he didn't know where the champion had come from! The horse's quick stride ate the miles between Windhelm and Falkreath Hold, and the tireless horse kept going long into the night, with both moons out to light their way. 

It took three days nonstop riding for Galmar to find Ulfric's carriage, struggling on the poorly kept roads of Dengeir's Hold. He slowed the horse to a walk as he approached the Stormcloaks and saw the impudent Ralof wave to him from in the back of the vehicle. He hopped down and jogged forward to meet Galmar and the sweating Frost.

"General," Ralof saluted.

"Impudent pup," Galmar muttered.

Used to Galmar's ways after the long campaigns, Ralof ignored the jibe, and, walking alongside the General, back towards the carriage and outriders, made his report.

"The High King's horse threw him, a week ago - you got here much more quickly than we had hoped - and he suffered an unpleasant concussion and a nasty break in his leg. The Shield-Maiden was not permitted to use healing magic on him, but she managed to set and splint the leg, so hopefully Ulfric won't suffer from any lameness-"

"Idiot! I told him that horse was not to be trusted," Galmar interrupted.

"To be fair, General Galmar," Ralof argued, "it was not the horse's fault that the dragon flying overhead spooked it. Poor thing ran straight into the beast's hungry maw."

Galmar glared at his insubordinate subordinate. "Thank Talos it did not drag Ulfric along with it. I suppose you want to hold a feast in the silly thing's honour?"

Ralof tried to bite back a surprised laugh at the general's comment. He wasn't entirely successful. "The Jarl wished to have you join him in the back of the carriage."

Galmar nodded and dismounted, tossing Frost's reins to Ralof. "If you don't take proper care of this horse, General Stormblade will be displeased," he said gruffly.

He jogged up behind the carriage, ignoring the driver asking if he would like it to stop, gripped the edge of one of the seats and hauled himself up. Ulfric gazed up at him from his reclining position atop a pile of fur-lined bedrolls in the well of the carriage. The High King of Skyrim smiled faintly at his oldest friend and Housecarl. His oldest friend and Housecarl glared at him and sat.

"Idiot."

"Galmar. How good of you to join us."

"I warned you about the damned horse being skittish, but would you listen? Damn fool. Now look where it got you," Galmar said, not bothering to lower his voice to pretend at privacy.

"Excuse me, ah, General Galmar, but I don't think you ought to speak to the exalted High King that way," the carriage driver interrupted nervously.

"Hmmph," Galmar snorted. "It'll do the man good. Just because he's High King does not stop him from being an idiot. Now shut up and drive! Where are we going?"

"I thought we might get to Riverwood from here, General," Ralof commented from atop Frost. "It's only a little over the border. Another day on the road at most."

"And Talos knows the roads will be better. Vignar Grey-Mane at least knows to maintain decent carriageways. I must have a word with Dengeir when this is all finished," Ulfric said, wincing and grunting in pain as the carriage hit yet another rutted, potholed section of roadway.

Galmar nodded. "I disagree. Take the next turn Northwards." 

The driver opened his mouth to argue, but Galmar glared at him so fiercely that he said nothing.

At Ulfric's questioning look, Galmar elaborated. "Rozenn has a sizeable property not too far from here, Lakeview Manor, and she told me we might make free with it, if needed. The steward there knows me, and she has a good head on her shoulders - unlike some Jarls I might mention."

Ulfric chuckled weakly and nodded his approval. "As long as we get off these damnable roads soon, I don't care where we go."

"Ah! Finally, the _Exalted_ High King shows some sense!" Galmar teased.


	2. Chapter 2: Emotional Stuff Happens

By the time the carriage halted, Ulfric was silent, pale and sweaty. His grip on Galmar's hand bordered on the painful, and Galmar noticed that his lip was bleeding where the High King had bitten it to silence moans of pain.

They managed to gently lift Ulfric from the carriage, using the bedroll he lay on as a stretcher. Ulfric never once made a sound, although Galmar knew that despite the best of intentions, the High King’s injured leg had been jostled as they moved him to the Dragonborn's bedchamber, and deposited him gently on the bed. Galmar signalled to Greta the Shield - Maiden to examine Ulfric for signs the injury had worsened; Ulfric was so pale and his breathing so shallow that Galmar was worried.

Ulfric screwed his eyes shut and hissed in pain when Greta made adjustments to the splint and raised his leg up on top of some pillows, but he did nothing to impede her work, and soon she had left the Jarl and his Housecarl alone together.

"What do you need?" Galmar asked quietly.

Ulfric, sick from pain and still with his eyes shut, merely shook his head. Galmar sat on the edge of the bed. He picked up Ulfric's fisted hand and gripped it tightly, much as he had done in the carriage. Ulfric gave a ghost of a smile to his oldest friend.

"Do you know any good tales?" Ulfric asked. "With the company you keep these days you must have some new ones."

"A tale? It's years past since you've wanted a tale, Ulfric," Galmar said, shifting on the bed to get comfortable. "Is it a tale of the Jagged Crown you want? Or dragons? Or would you rather a tale of the Dragonborn? I think I can make some of her rambling anecdotes sound reasonably dramatic."

"You may choose," Ulfric said, trying (and failing miserably) to relax his tense muscles.

"Very well," said Galmar, settling back against the headboard, and he began to tell his tale.

Ulfric didn't remember falling asleep, although he must have, for he woke suddenly during the night when he shifted unconsciously, and sent a jolt of agony through his wounded leg. Galmar still held his hand in a loose grip, though he was fast asleep, and snoring lightly. Ulfric smiled fondly at his friend; Galmar had talked himself hoarse that night, telling tale after tale, tirelessly. Galmar twitched and woke up, blinking blearily when he saw Ulfric awake.

"And then the talking dog led her to a talking statue in a shrine that had been taken over by a coven of vampires..." Galmar said, as though sleep had not interrupted him.

"Is a group of vampires called a coven?" Ulfric mused lightly. "I rather suspect that might be mages, hags and hedgewitches."

"Oh, my," said Galmar around a yawn. "I need a drink. May I fetch you an ale or mead, my Jarl?"

"My friend you need not stand on ceremony here - and I would dearly enjoy a mead," Ulfric replied. "You can finish the tale another time."

Galmar left and returned quickly, two bottles clinking in his hand. Ulfric smiled tightly, and beckoned Galmar over. The Housecarl opened the bottle, then paused. Ulfric was lying flat on his back – he’d choke on a sip. He rolled his eyes, then moved behind Ulfric to haul him into an upright position. It was so sudden that Ulfric could not suppress a pained groan as his leg slid off the pillows. 

"I'm sorry, Ulfric," said Galmar.

"You were only trying to help, my friend. It was not your fault," Ulfric said, although he was blinking tears from his eyes.

"Yes it was," Galmar muttered darkly. "Here." He thrust the bottle at Ulfric and crossed the room, keeping his back to Ulfric.

"Galmar," Ulfric said quietly. "Galmar. Will you - can you help me lift my leg back up? The Shield-Maiden said I would heal more quickly if I kept my leg elevated. I find it too ... much ... to raise my leg myself."

Galmar remained tense. Then he turned to the High King, glaring at him like he would any fool.

"You've just grown lazier since becoming High King," Galmar muttered, although he was as gentle as possible while moving Ulfric's injured leg.

"Yes, that's it. I cannot stand the thought of doing anything for myself anymore," Ulfric agreed, disconcerted by his Housecarl's reaction to his helplessness. _Galmar worries, that is all_, Ulfric decided. It couldn't possibly be anything more.

Ulfric slept well into the next day, although Galmar woke at his usual early hour. He wondered where Rozenn was, and did she miss waking up on top of him today. Galmar found he missed her warm weight on his chest, and he was annoyed at himself for it. He grumbled to himself about uppity Breton mages worming their way into his life and turning him sentimental as he went about his breakfast routine.

"Wake the Jarl and I will find you a position guarding a draugr infested tomb of no importance," Galmar threatened Ralof and the others as they made their way to the dining room table.

Ralof yawned. "'S too early to wake anyone up," he mumbled.

Galmar looked again at the three soldiers and healer and noticed a definite bleary-eyed look. "Got into Rozenn's mead barrels last night, did you?"

Ralof nodded. "She's got a nice brew. Too nice. I may never drink again."

"You say that now," Galmar said wickedly. "I know for a fact she has the last of Vilod's bottles of Mead with Juniper Berries from Helgen, and I know she put some in my pack. You used to visit Helgen often, didn't you?"

Ralof was staring at Galmar. "She went back there? Did you go with her?"

Galmar shook his head. "It was before we really knew one another. She took care of some vagrant bandits and gathered the mead as a souvenir. And if you're good I'll share."

"I'll be on my best behaviour," one of the other Stormcloaks chipped in, and Ralof nodded agreement.

"Good. Now who here is good at making turnovers and dumplings?"

*-*

Ulfric awoke alone, in an unfamiliar place, with pain in his leg. For a moment he thrashed about half trapped by the bedcovers, fearing in his sleep-addled state that he was still under Elenwen's merciless eye. He groaned loudly when his broken leg twisted under him.

Galmar was in the room in an instant, leaning over the bed, and meeting Ulfric's anxious gaze steadily.

"You broke your leg and took a knock to the head when your fool horse tossed you at the first whiff of a dragon," he said bluntly. "You'll be fine in a few weeks. You need to wake up, now, Ulfric."

Ulfric took some deep calming breaths, and released them slowly. He smiled tightly at his Housecarl. "Thank you, Galmar. The dream was particularly vivid, that is all."

"You were back with Elenwen?" Galmar asked shrewdly.

A single reluctant nod was the answer.

"You do realise that Rozenn and I have friends who could wipe that Elven bitch off the face of Tamriel. If the Dark Brotherhood can do for the Emperor, then they can do for Elenwne, too," Galmar said, shifting back to give his Jarl room to breathe. "Talos knows there's enough people in the world that she's wronged that nobody would accuse us of performing the Black Sacrament."

Ulfric smiled wryly. "Did nobody ever tell you that it shows fearlessness to show clemency to one's enemies? Besides, as long as she lives she will always be the one who let me escape, and I prefer it that way."

Galmar snorted. "Maybe I'll just perform it myself, and leave you none the wiser," he muttered. "You want some breakfast, then, fool? Ralof made some apple turnovers."

"I'd like that, Galmar. Thank you. And - thank you," Ulfric said again, catching Galmar's wrist.

Galmar shrugged uneasily, unhappy with the direction the conversation was taking. "It's just breakfast," he said and fled, sending Ralof in with a tray of breakfast for the High King.


	3. Chapter 3: Rozenn's Long Distance Mistake

Later that day, as Ulfric napped lightly, Galmar took up his pack, and, sitting across from Ulfric's Jarl-sized bed, searched for the Mead with Juniper Berries that Rozenn had promised to him.

Rifling through the bag, Galmar shoved aside potions, daggers, Rozenn's lucky Glass Mace (which he had given to her, originally), and a battered Homecooked Meal she had made especially for him - despite barely being able to cook - and, at the bottom of the pack several bottles of mead. Chuckling lightly to himself, Galmar lifted the six bottles out, depositing them carefully on the low table. 

The edge of a note stuck to one bottle fluttered in the slight draught coming under the door. Expecting one of Rozenn's explicit personal letters, he snatched it up, and glanced around to see if Ulfric was awake. The High King was still breathing deeply and evenly. Galmar smiled to himself, and opened a bottle, settling back in the winged chair to read.

_The bottles with green labels contain Ale and a potion of Vigorous Stamina. The Bottles with red labels contain Mead with a Potion of Plentiful Healing. There's two of each. These may hasten your return to me. All my love, R_

Galmar inhaled sharply, rage clouding his vision. He stood slowly, and turned and blindly hurled the bottle from him; it smashed against the wall, the crash obliterated by Galmar's enraged bellow.

"GALMAR!" Ulfric roared, jolted from his rest.

"My Jarl! General! What is it?" Ralof asked, having burst through the kitchen door, sword in hand. 

Rayya, the Steward stood in the external doorway, clearly having come from quarrying stone for the Thane. "What is the danger, High King?"

"Uhm, Galmar saw a ... skeever, Ralof, but it's quite all right. The noise scared it off," said Ulfric cagily.

Rayya flushed in mortification. "High King, I am so, so, sorry. I told Thane Rozenn there was rustling in the cellar, but she went to deal with some problem in Whiterun Hold before she could deal with it. I'll look after the infestation myself!"

"Do you want me to remain, Jarl Ulfric?" Ralof asked after the Steward left. He was not fooled by Ulfric's prevarication. He eyed Galmar with wary suspicion.

"No, thank you, Ralof of Riverwood. You are dismissed," Ulfric told the younger Nord.

Ralof nodded, and left, sheathing his blade as he turned.

"Well," Ulfric said to Galmar. "Now that we are alone, will you kindly explain to me why you felt your mead had given you mortal offense?"

"No," Galmar replied, and stalked from the room.

"Ralof!" Ulfric head Galmar bellow. "You're promoted to Housecarl!"


	4. Chapter 4: Rozenn's Mistake Has Consequences

Galmar was kneeling before the shrine that Rozenn kept in the Manor's cellar, praying to Talos (and any other Divines that might have been listening) for a way to talk with Ulfric about his sudden burst of temper. Skeever bodies were piled in a corner, having made the ultimate sacrifice to placate Galmar's sudden fury. He snorted, wryly amused that Ulfric's flimsy excuse had had some truth to it.

As he breathed in the calming straw-and-sawdust scents of the room and meditated before the altar, Galmar missed the telltale creak of the trapdoor opening. He didn't, however, miss the sound of heavy booted feet upon the ladder.

"Can't a man have some _privacy_ in which to _pray_?" Galmar bellowed.

"My apologies, General Galmar, but, well, you try saying "no" to the High King," Ralof replied, reaching up overhead.

"I do. Often and vocally. You'll learn, soon enough or - oh no," Galmar muttered, then halted, struck by a sudden, horrific thought. He turned and shook his head vehemently, pointing back upwards as he strode to the ladder. "No. No, no, no, no! Ulfric, no! Your leg's not even remotely set right! Get back in bed! At once!"

Ulfric Stormcloak looked down through the trapdoor at his long-time friend, and glared at him. "I will do no such thing, Galmar. It is high time we spoke of that which troubles you."

"_You_ trouble me, Ulfric!" Galmar hissed. "You'll be lame the rest of your days if you are not careful! Do you want that?"

"Do you want that?" Ulfric countered.

Galmar shoved his way up the ladder, past Ralof, to stand tall in the small sitting area, glaring ferociously at Ulfric, who was braced on the shoulders of two of the young Stormcloak soldiers. 

"You know, for a man famed for his rhetoric, your rejoinders are severely lacking in wit," Galmar said, shoving the two soldiers aside, and taking Ulfric's weight himself. The High King sagged slightly against him, testament to the pain he was hiding from his subordinates. "Idiot."

"Galmar," Ulfric began, but trailed off, uncertain for once how to talk to his friend.

"We'll talk in private, in the bedroom. Once your damned leg is elevated again and you've taken something to dull the pain," Galmar ordered, turning them both and walking back to the bedrooms. 

"I often wonder, Galmar, if you know which of us is in charge," Ulfric murmured, although a jolt to his leg, crossing the threshold to the bedroom, left him gasping for breath.

"I know precisely who is in charge, Ulfric, and it's not some snotty, spoiled Jarl's son," Galmar said, in perfect imitation of himself at age fourteen. Ulfric managed a weak smile at Galmar's poking fun.

It took a little while for Galmar to get Ulfric settled comfortably, and then to have Greta bring in a small dose of some manner of poppy juice to dull the throbbing pain in Ulfric's leg. 

"Now, you may tell me," Ulfric said.

"Oh, may I, indeed?" Galmar responded in an arch tone of voice.

"I could order you to tell me," Ulfric pointed out, without any real heat in the threat.

Galmar stiffened perceptibly. "You wouldn't, though, would you?" he asked warily.

"No. It would not be well done of me to force you. But I wish you would confide in me," Ulfric replied tiredly.

"Fine. It's all Thongvar Silver-Blood's fault. Him and the barkeep in that damned tavern of his," Galmar replied, sitting down in a comfortable armchair.

"What? Markarth? What has the ale from this afternoon got to do with Markarth?"

"Will you let me tell the story, please, Ulfric?" Galmar asked pointedly.

"Do you remember the day the Thalmor took you?" Galmar asked.

Ulfric froze and gave a chilling stare. "Do you think I do not?"

"That's not what I meant, Ulfric, and well you know it." 

"I'm sorry, Galmar. But you know I try to think of that time as little as possible," Ulfric replied.

"Do you remember there being much warning that the elves were coming for you? Sounds of a fight outside your door, perhaps?" Galmar asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, and addressing his knee.

Ulfric frowned as he thought back. "No," he said slowly. "I was taken by surprise. I only had time to Shout one of them into the wall before they swarmed and overwhelmed me. I - I confess, and I am sorry for it, but it did not occur to me that I heard nothing from you."

"I wondered if you had realised or not. I was too much of a coward to ask you, though. And then there was the business with Rikke, distracting me," Galmar said, flushing dark in shame.

"Galmar you are avoiding the point. My patience is not unlimited," Ulfric said crossly.

"Fine!" Galmar barked unhappily. "You want to know why the damned witch-elves took you so easily? Fine! I'll tell you!" 

Ulfric blinked and took a deep breath, hesitating to remind Galmar that he had, in fact, asked about something completely unrelated to that event.

Galmar stood, too agitated to remain seated, and began pacing, crossing half the room before doubling back on himself. 

Ulfric allowed the Housecarl to remain pacing in silence for a long minute, then lifted a hand to call him over to the bedside.

"Galmar. You are my most loyal... my oldest... You are my friend, my trusted friend, in a life where true friends are few and far between. You may speak candidly with me," Ulfric said quietly, meeting Galmar's reluctant gaze steadily.

"You'll change your tune," Galmar muttered.

"Do you think so little of me?" Ulfric asked softly.

"No. That's why I am so certain," Galmar muttered, turning away from Ulfric, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the hem of his tunic. "I failed you, Ulfric, in the most _fundamental_ way a Housecarl can fail his charge. They tricked me, the fucking Silver-Bloods, and the Thalmor got you in their hands."

Ulfric shifted himself so he sat higher in the bed. "Galmar. Tell me all."

Galmar glared at Ulfric, although Ulfric suspected the irate look was intended for the Thalmor. The Housecarl sighed. "Fine. I'll tell you. That night - the night they took you - we were in the Inn. There was a big crowd, many new faces. All of them merrily buying rounds and cheering for the Legion. There was a lovely tavern wench there that I hadn't seen before, and for once she was more interested in me than you. Now I know why," Galmar said, shaking his head and sighing.

"A lovely little thing she was. Blonde. Buxom. Nice... assets, if you know what I mean, and had a lovely smile that suggested good things for later on. I was merry but not in my cups by the time the crowd dispersed, and she came to me with one last bottle, and a saucy wink."

Galmar paused, clearly fighting himself, but Ulfric suspected he knew what was coming.

"What was in the drink, my friend?" Ulfric asked quietly.

Galmar gave a bark of unamused laughter. "Am I so transparent? Alright. It was a Paralysis Poison, probably the strongest I have ever come across, before or since. I downed half the bottle in a single swallow, and suddenly couldn't move. My legs and arms went stiff and straight. I couldn't blink my damned eyes!

I fell right out of my damned chair to the floor, just as the thrice-damned witch-elf bastards came in. That - that viper Elenwen came over to me and _kindly_ closed my eyes so they wouldn't dry out and leave me blind. I couldn't move or I'd have ended her days right then and there." 

Galmar spat in disgust at the memory, then silently promised himself to clean up the spittle before Rozenn came back to the manor. He took a small, fortifying breath and continued.

"I could hear them dragging you out - I assume they gagged you - and telling each other how well they'd managed it. Nobody suspected a thing, except Kleppr Silver-Blood, who orchestrated the whole thing, probably at his brother's behest. I wager he gave them Legion positions that time we were looking for a mole, but I have no proof of that. He wanted us away from his precious mines, and he managed it.

"It took an hour more for that damn poison to wear off enough to move even the slightest bit. Another hour later it wore off fully and you were well gone, along with any tracks or trails that I might have followed. And by the time I finally found you, you were so traumatised by their torturers that you couldn't tell the difference between a Healer and an enemy - and you still can't. Now. If you will kindly excuse me, my Jarl, I feel the need for some fresh air."

Ulfric nodded and Galmar stepped out the patio doors. Ulfric sagged back into his bed: he had been given plenty to think about. Almost immediately he sat upright again. "Ralof," he called.

"My Jarl?" Ralof stuck his head in the door.

"Send for General Stormblade, would you? Her services will be needed shortly."

"Right away, my Jarl," Ralof saluted.


	5. Chapter 5: In Which Healing Begins

"Damn you mages, get off my property!" Galmar bellowed, charging the Necromancers using the table by the lakeside.

The fight was quick, bloody, and decidedly one-sided. Galmar soon had total privacy in which to listen to the lake water lapping, and watching the slaughterfish snapping at the dartwings, and otherwise draw the peace of Lake Ilinalta into his heart. 

He wished Rozenn was with him: even if they didn't talk or hold each other, there was something comforting about knowing she was around. He'd see her soon enough, once Ulfric decided what his punishment was to be. If the man asked, he'd recommend Ralof for the position of Housecarl, and Yrsarald for the position he had held in the army. He wondered if Rozenn would mind not living in Windhelm anymore; he couldn't hope to remain sane if he lived there and wasn't Ulfric's Housecarl and General, and this manor house had a nice view. Or he'd try his hand at fishing and live in Riften - he could probably ignore the Thieves' Guild if she asked it of him.

He sighed. He was going to hate having nothing to do and nobody to look after. Maybe he'd get a dog.

*-*

Rozenn strolled up to the house, scarcely an hour after Ralof had sent the messenger for her.

"I was in Falkreath hold visiting an old friend," she said dismissively when questioned her quick arrival. "Did Ulfric say why he wished to see me?"

"No, he didn't, Rozenn. I suspect it has something to do with Galmar," Ralof replied. Rozenn raised her brows in an unspoken query, and he continued. "Your husband has been ... pricklier than usual, the last few days. And today he tried to kill a skeever with a bottle of mead."

Rozenn nodded in understanding, although in truth she understood little. She headed into the bedroom.

*-*

"General Galmar!" Shield Maiden Greta called as she jogged to the lake shore.

Galmar shook himself out of his reverie. "What is it? Is Ulfric well?"

Greta nodded. "The High King wishes you to join him in his bedchamber - uh, I mean..." Greta blushed at her double entendre, but Galmar hadn't even heard it, he was already sprinting back uphill.

Ulfric was not alone when Galmar burst through the patio doors, out of breath from his mad dash up to the house. He stood stock still, arrested by the sight before him. Ulfric lay back on the bed, held down by Ralof on the left and another of the young Stormcloaks on the right (he really should have learned the fellow's name) while Rozenn stood before him, clad in Master Mage Robes from the school of Restoration with golden magic glowing in her palms.

"What in Talos' name is going on here?"

"Galmar! I _missed_ you!" Rozenn turned to face him, her smile lighting up the room better than a Magelight spell. She sheathed her ready spells and jumped on her husband, hugging and kissing him warmly.

Galmar's arms tightened instinctively around her, and he inhaled the scent of her deeply, but kept a wary eye on Ulfric and the young Stormcloaks. "Not that I am not pleased to have you here, wife, but what are you doing to the High King?"

Ulfric gazed at Galmar and offered a small, wry smile to his longtime friend. "You made a very good point, today, Galmar. I lost the ability to tell healer from foe in the hands of the Thalmor. And in allowing my remembered pain to control my reaction to healers, I allowed the Thalmor to win, many times over. Today, I chose to take that victory back from them. Rozenn is going to heal my broken leg."

Rozenn, still clutching Galmar as though she might never let him go, nodded into his shoulder. "Ulfric said it might be best to have a healer with a strong Thu'um to help him - if he fought someone like Greta he might hurt her, but I can use Ice Form to still him and calm him if he needs it. Will you help hold him steady, love?"

Galmar stayed as he was for a long time, eyes on Ulfric. Eventually he nodded. "And the rest of our conversation?"

"Remains confidential between us, Galmar," Ulfric said firmly.

"Very well. What would you have me do, Breton?"

"Would that you would speak to me so deferentially," Ulfric muttered with a small smile.

"What? And let you think you're in charge? Pfffft!" Galmar took over from the young Stormcloak, who went off to the kitchen. 

Rozenn spoke to Ulfric, "This will be uncomfortable, but hopefully not painful. Any pain or discomfort you might feel is a positive thing: a healing pain. Try to remain still." To Ralof and Galmar she added, "keep him steady and as calm as possible."

"You'll be fine, Ulfric," Galmar said under his breath as the High King's muscles tensed beneath his hands.

Rozenn's hands glowed golden and then the magic flowed into Ulfric, centring on his leg. Ulfric shut his eyes and pushed his head back into the pillow, a grimace of horror on his features. Ralof looked worriedly at Galmar. Galmar smiled grimly. 

"He can do this. He might pass out, like a milkrinker-" this comment aimed at Ulfric "- but he'll do it, and be a better High King for it." 

Ulfric forced himself not to fight the two pairs of hands holding him down; he heard the spell begin, but couldn't hear much more over the roaring in his ears. It had been years since he had felt such helpless fear. He didn't know how long he was treated for, but he felt Ralof's hands ease off his shoulder, and Galmar slip a hand down to grip his fist.

"Ulfric?" Rozenn was calling his name, and likely had done so several times. "Ulfric, can you speak?"

Ulfric let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and croaked out what might have been a yes.

Galmar pushed him upright into a sitting position and held a tankard to his lips. Sweet mead filled his mouth. Ulfric swallowed, feeling an immediate improvement. Something about the sweetness made him feel better... Or... "Was this mead dosed with a healing potion?"

Galmar chuckled and Rozenn laughed. "Maybe. Maybe not. Does your leg feel better?" Galmar asked.

Ulfric tested it on the bed. It felt considerably better. He nodded. 

"Want to try putting your weight on it?" Galmar asked, while pushing Ulfric to the edge of the bed.

"What if I say "No"?" Ulfric asked.

Galmar shoved him. "Tough."

Ulfric stood, glaring at his Housecarl. "An improvement. Thank you, Thane Rozenn."

"What happened to General Stormblade? Not that I like the name, mind," Rozenn asked, coming to lean happily against Galmar.

"You don't look it. In that get-up you look like a mage or scholar or a Thane," Galmar answered before Ulfric could even examine his reasoning.

"And the leg, High King? Better?" Rozenn asked again.

"Much. I think perhaps it will be a long time before I ask for another healing, but I would ask that you be the one to perform them," Ulfric replied.

"Of course, Ulfric. Unless I can teach the Thu'um for Ice Form to every healer in Skyrim, nobody else would be brave enough to try healing you!"

"You and Galmar - you will always keep me humble," Ulfric muttered.

"Someone has to," they chorused. Ralof snorted.

Ulfric glared at the young Nord. "See that all our things are packed. We need to get back to Windhelm as soon as may be."

"Yes, High King!"

"Now, High King Ulfric, if you don't mind..." Rozenn said as she went to a dresser and opened a drawer.

"What?" Ulfric asked even as Galmar said out of the side of his mouth "Don't ask."

"You can change our sheets. I don't want to bed my husband and catch your scent, do I?"

"Don't you have a steward for that?"

"The Steward didn't use my bed."

"Now I remember why I liked Ralof's suggestion of going to Riverwood. Nobody there would dream of speaking to me like you two do."


End file.
